


Sweet Hitchhiker

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ghosts, Human Castiel, Impala, Monster of the Week, vengeful spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Impala breaks down when a Hitchhiker Spirit picks them out for a ride to New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Hitchhiker

Sam kept his eyes on the road, watching the clouds, watching the road kill they passed, looked at anything he could to keep his eyes from travelling to the rear view mirror or, worse, the back seat. He sighed, turning his attention to his stupid arm. He'd bandaged it and applied pressure, but it still ached annoyingly. He scrunched up his nose and scratched at that the edges of the ace bandage. He turned his attention to Dean, who should not have been driving. There was a purple and gold bruise clouding his temple and his eyes were a bit fogged over with concussion.

Sam's lips curled on themselves as a burning leapt to his eyes, which he turned back to the road. This was all his fault. He should have double checked the lore. He'd been too cocky. He was tired of Dean always being the one in charge, of being right, and he wanted that power for himself.

He put them all in danger.

He couldn't get it out of his head. He thought it was a rugaru, something easy. They all went in, silver at the ready but he had been wrong. He hadn't done enough research. There had been signs, but he'd ignored them. Idiot idiot idiot! It hadn't been a rugaru at all. It hadn't even been ten rugrau's. It had been a nest of goblins and silver did nothing to them.

He bit his lip, trying to keep his stupid tears in. What a fool. Dean really was better than he was and it had been proven once again. Dean had saved all of them, grabbing the lead pipe out of the wall after he's head had been bashed into it. He went after the goblins swinging, taking them all down.

Sam was nothing but a child. Dean would have been better off without him. He'd wanted Dean to hit him, to let out his anger, but instead Dean had gone quiet. He carried the bleeding angel back to the Impala and laid him down before driving off, never once looking at Sam. That was so much worse than being hit. They didn't even have any music on.

The Impala hitched and there was a loud bang, the old frame bouncing up. Sam hissed as his head hit the roof. Dean was cursing and that was good, that was better than the silence that had been emanating from him before.

The Impala was shuddering though and that wasn't right. Sam barely knew anything about cars, but he knew the sounds of the Impala and she was rattling in ways she shouldn't have. There was also a sound of harsh breathing and Sam turned, not wanting to see Cas in the backseat.

Dean had laid him down on his back, without a seatbelt, his raw muscle exposed to the air. He'd been unconscious, luckily, but with the bang he had been knocked over onto his side and now was somewhere in between consciousness and not.

Sam reached back as Dean swerved the black car over to the side of the road, parking it with the hazard lights on. He hadn't stopped cursing, but Sam was no longer listening. His eyes were on his friend and he clutched his pale and cold hand. Cas was far too cold. Too cold and too pale. Not only that but now that he was awake, he could feel all of the pain of the deep lacerations in his chest. Sam wanted to move to the backseat, to cuddle up with the angel in his lap, to comfort him and help him through the pain of it. Cas was hardly even an angel now, Sam didn't need to be told that to know. If he had been, he would have been healed up by now.

What an idiot. Cas shouldn't have been so stupid back there. He had drawn the goblins' attention, distracted them from the hunters and they tore him down, ripped at his flesh. What a dumbass. He should have just run. He should have just run the first time he ever saw what kind of monster Sam was.

The large man couldn't help but feel all of this was his fault. It was. He had set Lucifer free, he had lied and drank demon blood, he had sent his friend and his brother into a hunt without any real lore. They had just been luck that they'd been able to get out of there.

The Impala door slammed, something it wasn't accustomed to, and Sam tore his damp eyes from Cas's wounds. Dean had left the safety of the driver's seat and, still swearing, was pulling up the hood of the Impala, looking inside.

Sam climbed out of the passenger seat, trying not to hit his head on the doorframe once again. His only problem with his brother's girl was her height. He was always scraping off of his scalp on her harsh edges. He may not have known much about cars or how to fix them, but he knew that they were stuck there on the side of the road before he had even made it to Dean's side, before he looked at the engine. There was liquid all over the shoulder.

"What happened?" he interrupted the onslaught of his brother's swearing.

"It's the radiator." he grumbled, looking over his baby's machinery, "We must have hit a rock or something. She's been cracked. We're stuck out here."

"Dean." Sam mouthed, "We have to do something about Cas. He's bleeding out pretty bad."

Dean slammed down the hood of the Impala, causing her to rock uncomfortably. Sam tried not to think of what that was doing to Cas's spilled gut.

"You don't think I know that, Sammy?" Dean barked, "What happened back there? You always know exactly what you're doing? You could have gotten us all killed!"

There it was. There was the anger that Sam had desired. He needed it. It was horrible for him to punish himself for this, but when it was Dean, well, it was easier to have someone other than himself mad at him. If it were Dean who had messed up, he would have stayed silent. Dean worked that way, bu no. Sam was an idiot who couldn't even lead a hunt correctly. It wasn't some temporary fault. He couldn't lead.

Before Dean could continue his eyes went wide and his body was flung from the road. There was no one there though and Sam twisted and turned, trying to see their attacker. There was no one there. Sam's heart was beating fast and then he saw it. As the radio switched itself on, spewing out static and Cas fought for his own consciousness, someone appeared in the passenger seat.

He was only there for a second, but he looked horrible. A man, someone who had once been an upright citizen, still wearing a suit and cap, but they were old, at least 80 years old and they were grimy and ripped apart. His eyes were bloodshot and sad, so so sad. Sam immediately felt for him, knew that this spirits life could have been so much better.

Then he felt him, his hands wrapped tightly around his neck. He struggled, eyes fixed on the spirit before him, but his breaths were stolen from him and he could barely see around spots of oxygen dehydration. His long boney fingers were rummaging through the spirits clothes and he was slightly aware that they were getting damp in there, blood staining his flesh.

With a puff of black ash the man was gone and Sam was clutching at his throat, gasping in much needed breaths. He looking down, eyes landing on Cas's back. He fell to his knees, reaching out to his friend. He was still conscious, but just barely and his eyes were closed tightly as he tried to ignore the pain in his chest.

Even now, when he was human and hurt, he was still trying to save the boys. What an idiot. Couldn't he see that that was the whole problem? Cas should never have destroyed himself, should never have tried to help these stupid mortals. Sam was a monster and everything he touched seemed to be tarnished.

Dean was groaning and swearing again, pulling himself back onto the road and touching his pained head. He hardly looked at Sam, but his eyes were stuck on Cas. That was alright, Sam didn't deserve his brother's attention, especially when Cas was here, absolutely giving his all, dying for them. Through the pain, the angel was holding tightly onto an iron crowbar, one that Dean had left in the backseat, planning to put it in the trunk just a little later.

Without a word, Dean went to the trunk, pulling out an iron poker and a shotgun, tucking the big gas can of salt under his arm. Sam used the moment to whip out his cell phone, never taking a hand off of Cas's quivering shoulder and dialing Bobby's number.

"What now?" came Bobby's voice, "You finished with that rugaru or what? You're all the way in Montana, you'd better not expect me to come and save your asses."

Sam decided not to correct the old drunk, he already knew what Bobby's reaction would be if Sam admitted he had messed up and he didn't need to be called an idjit just yet. "Actually, we've got another problem. We're on I-90, just passed Garrison. I need you to find out if anyone died violently here, I want to say during the late twenties, early thirties."

"You got a spirit on your trail?" Bobby asked, almost mockingly, but Sam could hear the clacking of keyboard keys. A surge of pride went through him. He knew Bobby had never been good at computers, but Sam had taken it on himself to teach him how to search some of the more hidden legal search engines. Sounded like he was using them.

"More than on our trail," Sam admitted, "it's practically on top of us. Let me know when you find anything, Bobby. Thanks."

He hung up and turned back to the Impala, ignoring Dean as he finished pouring the circle of salt around Cas's injured frame.

"Can you take me to New York?" the spirit asked from the driver's seat, his bloodshot eyes staring deep into Sam, "Please. I hear there are jobs in New York."

Once again the spirit flickered and vanished.

The hitchhiker. Sam recognized the legend, but usually the hitchhiker wasn't malevolent. Normally he would just appear in the car and ask to be taken somewhere, vanishing mere miles after. They died on the side of the road, no one caring to give them a ride. This one was vengeful though.

Dean climbed into the circle, being careful not to disturb it, and knelt beside his two companions. He rested a hand on the angel's shoulder, showing a kind of kindness that Sam only ever saw when someone was hurt. Selfishly he wished to trade places with his friend. He wanted Dean to comfort him instead of be mad at him, even though that was what he deserved, and he didn't want Cas to be hurt. He was the one who had caused all of this damage; it would only be fitting if he were the one most hurt.

The man appeared outside of the circle, watching them sadly. Sam stood up, curious. There was a hole in the man's clothes, a slit, as if he'd been stabbed there and Sam glanced down at his fingers, the blood still staining them.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man took a step back, almost as if he were afraid, before vanishing.

"What are you doing Sam?" Dean hissed "We're not going to be buddy buddy with a spirit, y'know!"

"It wouldn't hurt to know who he was, would it?" Sam fought back, "If we know who he was we'd have a higher chance of finding his bones, salting and burning them. Then we could get out of here!"

"T-Tobias." The weak voice answered, and Sam turned, seeing him at the window of the Impala, leaning down as if to talk to the driver, "Tobias Smith. I lost my job; it's this depression, isn't it? You got room for one more?"

"You broke my car, Toby!" Dean shouted and the spirit vanished.

After a few more minutes, Sam looking everywhere to see the spirit, see if Tobias was going to continue acting out his routine, his phone rang.

He didn't even look at the caller I.D. before holding it to his ear, "What have you got?" he asked.

"Nothing." Bobby sounded annoyed, "There have been no deaths on that road in that time frame."

"His name is Tobias Smith. Maybe if you search for that?"

Bobby went silent, but Sam could hear the keyboard as the old hunter worked it.

"There was a Tobias Smith on 1-90 in that time frame, but he was in Idaho. He didn't die though, just vanished. He was a lawyer who lost his job in the great depression. He decided to go to New York to look for some kind of work. Oh wait, here we go."

Another pause. Dean was looking worried, the fearless leader, crouched by Cas with his hand in front of his face, was looking worried. The angel's heavy breathing had faded away and now he was breathing softly, too softly.

"Ah, he is believed to be a victim of the Maverick Brothers." Bobby continued, "They travelled I-90, picking up hitchhikers, killing, them, and dumping them on the side of the highway. They never found Tobias's body though."

"Great. Thanks Bobby, we owe you, again." He hung up.

Dean was watching over the angel as if he were a wounded kitten, the big softy, but Sam had to interrupt him, "So get this." He started, repeating the information that Bobby had given him.

Dean nodded, the corners of his mouth plummeting in the same face that Sam made on so many occasions. He'd heard it called a sturgeon face, but he never really understood why. "So we have to find him and salt and burn the remains. No big deal."

They both checked to see if the spirit was anywhere nearby, and when they were sure the coast was clear, they stepped out of the ring of salt, Sam carrying the fire poker and Dean keeping the shotgun aimed, always alert.

"What I don't get is why he's getting picked up here He was a state over."

"Seeing how he's acting, I'd say he was killed somewhere else and is just acting it out over here. Maybe he was killed in Idaho, right when he was picked up and since his bones are over here, he's repeating it here. Attacking what doesn't fit."

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean was looking up at him, eyes piercing him accusingly.

"Is this about the goblins again? I said I was sorry."

"No. You just seem to really feel for this ghost."

Sam thought about it. He did care about this spirit, he pitied him a bit, "I dunno. I guess. He just reminds me of me. He was a lawyer and I wanted to be a lawyer, he lost his job and you picked me up to find dad. Neither one of us could continue on as lawyers."

"You and this guy are not at all alike." Dean corrected, "He's dead. And he wears an ugly hat. And you are much larger."

Sam choked back a laugh at that, "Yeah, well. I just feel bad for him, okay?"

They passed the Impala with no issue. This spirit really wasn't as vengeful as he was constant. They were out of the way of danger; he wouldn't attack them now that they were out of his way.

Dean must have realized this as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed, looking for a tow truck. Sam looked over his shoulder, seeing the brownish lump that was Cas, lying in his circle of salt. He was far too pale, had lost too much blood. He motioned to Dean that he was going to head to the left, just so that they could search more in less time and as soon as he was out of ear shot, he called an ambulance. He highly doubted that Dean would have allowed him, but he called anonymously, saying he had spotted the bleeding man while driving past. They didn't have enough time to fix him up on their own.

There were some trees along the side of the road, almost a small forest, and Sam headed into it. He always felt good in the woods, like it was somewhere that he belonged. He loved the smell and the way that it made him feel small, unlike most everything else, and the way it made his legs itch to run. Away from Dean, he gave into it, running as fast as his long legs could take him. He could search better this way, cover more ground, and he startled some deer as his heavy footsteps made their way to them.

He almost ran straight into the small lake that sat in the middle of the wooded area. It was tiny but still, it was where Sam would hide a body if he needed to. He pulled out his phone and called Dean, letting him know where he was and that he thought he'd found the poor lawyers grave.

He quietly stripped before getting into the water, hissing as he did so. It was cold and his boxers weren't made to keep that kind of cold out. The only other thing he brought with him was his poker, just in case the spirit wanted to protect his bones.

He could see into the water just fine, but there were fish and rocks and grime, and they made it a bit tougher to find the remains of the lone hitchhiker. He literally stumbled upon them, his foot breaking one of the ribs. The water had preserved the body just enough to keep it all in one piece and Sam had to keep from gagging as he grabbed a hold of it. There was still some flesh, hair, and clothing on the body, making it much more disgusting than he had wanted to deal with.

His arm screamed as he got the bandages wet, the cut still too fresh for him to submerge.

By the time he pulled Tobias' rancid body to the shore, Dean had made it to the edge of the lake and he was watching him. Sam wasn't going to mess up, not right now. He could do this. It really wasn't hard, but Dean's eyes on him made him feel like every move he made was being judged.

He dumped Tobias' body and took the lighter fluid from his clothes, pouring most of the bottle onto the remains. It was going to take a lot to get such a soaked body to burn. He lit a whole motel matchbook before dropping it onto the body, the fluid combusting before the body. The fire was warm and delightful to his freezing and wet body, but it also smelled horrible, so he pulled himself away and wiped off as much water as he could with his hands before pulling on his clothes.

When they got back to the road, the Impala was already towed away and an ambulance was parked there, the paramedics pulling Cas onto a gurney. They hid off of the road until they were gone before walking back to Garrison, hoping that that was where both their car and their angel were.

It didn't take long before the two boys were singing old Metallica songs as loudly as they could together.


End file.
